


I'm trying but I'm graceless

by owlvsdove



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-19
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-17 23:01:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2326241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlvsdove/pseuds/owlvsdove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I know that Fitz is an adult, and I know that we’re in hiding. And I know that it’s not really feasible. But I think we should get Fitz’s mum.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm trying but I'm graceless

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Graceless by The National (which is a very appropriate song for this whole thing and everyone should listen to it):
> 
> _I'm trying, but I'm graceless_  
>  Don't have the sunny side to face this  
> I am invisible and weightless  
> You can't imagine how I hate this 

“I know that Fitz is an adult,” she starts. She’s talking slow. “And I know that we’re in hiding. And I know that it’s not really feasible. But I think we should get Fitz’s mum.”

“Simmons,” Coulson starts, but she breaks in again.

“He’d be so mad that I told her. But Fitz and Mary only have each other,” her face screws up, every muscle tense and twisted in a concerted effort not to cry. “And nothing that I’ve done has worked. She deserves to know.” The effort was for nothing. Her tears spill over and she stares down at the floor.

Coulson looks at her for a long moment, and if she had been returning his gaze she’d see his heart break on his face, like it always does, clear as anything.

“Okay,” he says tightly. “You and May can take the Bus. You’ll have to black-bag her.” She nods in understanding, but she won’t look. She’s trembling, trying not to scream aloud.

He stands, rounds his desk. She’s standing in the corner, strangely. She had been there when he entered, waiting for him. In the corner. Like a punishment. He puts his arms around her shoulders. She rests her chin. She breaks.

 

 

 

_Mary? It’s Jemma._

_I can’t say much over the phone._

_He’s hurt, Mary._

_I’m going to come get you, so you can see him._

_I’m so sorry, Mary, I’m so sorry._

_I’m so sorry._

 

 

 

After the others are out of sight, after the doors to the underground have shut behind them, and they’re breathing fresh air for the first time in weeks, May takes her hand.

Jemma tries not to startle at her touch, but May can probably feel every twitch and stretch, every heartbeat.

May leads her up the ramp; they drop their kits in the lounge and walk up to the cockpit. May prepares, and Jemma sits down in the seat next to her.

Once they’re in the air, Jemma sinks back into the chair, knees to chest. She lets her head tilt back, eyes shut for just a moment.

May’s a very smart woman, so she speaks now, before Jemma can fall too far. “Do you know Mrs. Fitz well?”

“Ms. Fitz, actually. She was never married,” Jemma explains. But May knew that already. “And yes, I suppose. I’ve done Christmas with them a few times, and she and Fitz have had Christmas with us. When Fitz’s grandpa died, I went up there. We use to talk on the phone quite a bit, but not so much lately.”

“She’s very different from my mum,” Jemma continues, twisting a lose thread around her finger idly. “Mum was always very anxious, and she didn’t really understand any of this. When I first left home she kept asking when I was going to come back and get a proper job. But Mary…Fitz was all she had. So she was never anxious. She never misunderstood. She just poured everything she had into him. She is so strong. That’s how I know…” And then she stops.

“What?”

“I know, he’s our silly Fitz, but when it comes down to it I know that he’s—”

“Strong,” May finishes.

“Yes.” She sighs. “You’ll quite like Mary, I think. You’re both strong.”

May wants to tell Jemma that she is also strong, but she wonders if it would make a difference. Jemma hasn’t let up on herself for weeks. Phil’s been anxiously seeking Melinda out more often, wanting to fret over Jemma. Everyone’s worried.

“It’ll be good to meet her,” May says diplomatically instead.

This time when Jemma leans her head back and closes her eyes, May lets her.

 

 

 

Mary meets them at the small air strip they chartered. Under fake names and with rewired funds, thanks to Skye, of course.

She’d been waiting in a small white room for a few hours probably, but she doesn’t jump to her feet when they enter. In fact, she doesn’t look anxious. Just somber, the slow kind of quiet.

“Jemma,” she says.

“Hello, Mary,” Jemma says meekly.

Mary pulls her into a hug and Jemma feels surprised by it. She doesn’t say anything about it when they part, just steps away and introduces May. The two women shake hands.

“Are you sure you don’t want to rest before we leave? You’ve been flying for quite some time, I imagine.”

“Our plane is equipped with everything we need,” May assures her.

“The thing is, Mary,” Jemma says anxiously. “You see, our organization…well, we need you to…” She stumbles.

May side-eyes her. “We can’t let you see the outside of the plane or our destination. I’m going to put this bag over your head while you enter and take it off when you’re inside. We’ll do the same after we land.”

Mary raises an eyebrow, but she doesn’t protest. “Fair enough.”

 

 

 

Jemma takes Mary to see him right away.

He doesn’t look that bad, really. Just sort of pale and asleep. His arm is still in a sling, although it’s not really necessary as he doesn’t move around much.

Jemma holds her breath by the door.

Mary takes his hand. She watches with a reverence. It’s stupid. But she was hoping. Maybe. Maybe.

He doesn’t move an inch. No finger twitches. No eyelash flutters. Just silence.

She backs out of the room as quickly as she can manage.

 

 

 

 

Skye finds her retching in the toilet.

“Jem?”

It’s a series of dry heaves, as she hasn’t eaten anything of substance in quite some time. But they’re horrible all the same.

Skye opens the door. Jemma is clutching at her knees on the cool tile.

“I just met Fitz’s mom,” Skye offers.

Jemma nods.

“She seems kickass.”

“She is.”

Skye sits down next to her on the floor.

“I thought maybe he would wake up if—”

“Me too.”

There is a moment of silence, and then Skye continues: “I fucking love you.”

Jemma smiles a little. But it fades, fades, fades.

 

 

 

“He’s sometimes a little more responsive when she’s near.” Mary looks up at the sound, startled, to see Coulson poised in the doorway. They had spoken on the plane, but now she’s putting a face to the voice. “I don’t really have any way of explaining it. Sometimes he moves around a bit or makes a sound if she’s close by.”

Mary gives him a look, one eyebrow cocked. “My son has been in love with that girl since the day he met her, no matter how much they both insist otherwise. I can just tell.”

Coulson smiles in response. “Do you think she feels the same?”

“I think she loves him more than anyone else in the world. I don’t know if it’s exactly the same, though.” She looks down at his face. “But he certainly does love her more than anyone else.” Then she peers back at Coulson. “I mean, he used to love _me_ more than anyone else, but hey, I live to be replaced,” she says with a smile.

He huffs a little laugh at this.

“Do you have children, Agent Coulson?” she asks.

He’s not quite sure how to answer that. “No. But sometimes it feels like I do.” And he bunches his mouth, holding something precious inside.

“It was always just the two of us. Life was very extreme, in some sense. Just one person to rely on, just one sole focus for his life – which happened to be greatness, by the way. He must’ve been six or so, and he says to me, _mummy, the only thing I want is to be great_.” She smiles. “And when he left home for university I could tell he was always alone. He wouldn’t say so but I could tell. And then sweet little Jemma comes along. He had never had many friends growing up; he was too small and too smart and too much of a troublemaker. But suddenly this little girl, matching him wit for wit, walks past him and everything is changed. A life of extremes, this boy.”

She sighs. “And then you all came along. I don’t know the details, Agent Coulson, but he’s seemed to fall in love with all of you – and against his wishes, I might add,” she says with a snort. “He’s got more balance now. So much love in his heart he can give to more people. Don’t get me wrong, he’s quite the little shit I’ve raised—” Coulson laughs aloud at this. “But a loveless heart, he does not have.”

And Coulson can do nothing but agree.

 

 

 

“Sir?” Jemma says, poking her head in a while later. “May needs to meet with you.”

“Ah, Jemma, love, come sit with me,” Mary says before Phil can respond. He vacates his chair and offers it to her silently. He must be able to see the tension within her because he squeezes her shoulder as he exits the room.

“You ran off as soon as we got here,” Mary says. Not an accusation, just a fact.

Jemma thinks about lying. She can’t. “I needed to vomit.”

Mary just nods. “I understand.”

They sit in silence for a moment. Jemma thinks she can feel Mary deciding what to say next so she pre-empts her.

“I’m so sorry.”

“So am I.”

“No, I…” She’s misunderstanding. Jemma breathes once and all the pieces come apart. “It’s my fault.”

Mary doesn’t immediately protest, and something clicks into place, a slight tension relieved. They’re on the right path now, the path Jemma was hoping for. She is doomed, and she has come to peace with that. She will take her punishment.

“You didn’t really tell me the story of the phone,” Mary says carefully.

Jemma’s not quite sure where to start. She wants this conversation to be as straightforward as possible. “Someone tried to kill us.”

Mary stills very suddenly. Swallows. After a long moment she offers a protest, tremor in her throat: “You’re scientists.”

That would’ve been a good point a few months ago. But their titles hardly matter now. “You’ve seen the news, Mary. Things have gotten…dire. Someone we trusted tried to kill us.”

“That’s not your fault, Jemma.”

“I’m not finished.” She’s telling the story to the floor, and she feels a ruthless burning within her. Shame. _Take your punishment, Jemma._ She meets Mary’s eyes and it hurts even worse, but she continues, measured and practiced. “We were going to suffocate to death at the bottom of the ocean. We came up with a plan to get out but it was only sustainable for one person. He chose me.”

She has to look away now, she absolutely must. Because tears are making her vision go anyway. And because she’s _angry_. And she doesn’t want Fitz’s mum to see how absolutely furious she is at a boy who saved her life, because it’s ridiculous; she knows she shouldn’t be furious and she is anyway. More agonizing shame.

Mary looks at Fitz now, taking in this information.

“We argued about it,” Jemma whispers. “But he was adamant that I leave him behind.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Of course not.” Her voice shakes with anger. “How could I?”

Mary just nods, still looking at Fitz.

“It's still not your fault, Jemma.”

Jemma stands. “How can you say that?” It comes out loud and frantic.

“It's true, Jemma. He made his choice.”

“Yeah!” She yells. “Yeah, he did! He chose without me. What gives him the right to make that kind of choice? We decide everything _together_.”

“He--”

“It's _rude_ , Mary. It's bloody disrespectful!  I thought we were partners. I thought we made decisions together but I guess I don't deserve that. I deserve this,” she wrenches, flinging a hand towards his prone form. “He took himself out of the world for _me_.” She's disintegrating, melting, exploding. She is actually sinking to the floor.

“You may have given him another chance, Jemma. You saved him.”

“ _I prolonged this_ ,” she hisses. “What if I’ve only made it worse? What if he's in pain? I don't know _what's_ happening in his head anymore.”

She's shaking so hard. She can't stop.

“This is my fault.”

“No, it's--”

“Stop! Stop being kind. _Please_. Why is no one yelling at me?” She is beggingon the floor, broken up between sobs. “ _Please._ Yell at me.”

She presses her forehead to her knees and holds on tight, trembling. Mary sits in silence for a long time.

“I'm sorry, Jemma,” Mary says quietly. “But I won't.”

They sit together as Jemma cries herself out.

 

 

 

By the toilet again, Jemma tells Skye what happened. That she lost it in front of a grieving mother. That she begged for relief.  She knows that Skye is going to turn around and tell May immediately by the look on her face, but she doesn't have the energy to ask for secrecy.

“I know it doesn't matter what I say, because you're going to believe what you believe. Maybe until he wakes up, or maybe forever. But no one blames you, Jemma.”

Skye sticks a kiss on her cheek and leaves her to her sickness.

 

 

 

“Do you love him?” A long while later Skye seeks her out to ask her.

Jemma knows exactly what she's asking. She stares ahead, not looking at her, not looking at him.

“I don't know. I don't _want_ to know.”

Because if she doesn't love him ( _that_ way), he wasted his life for no reason. If she does, she's realized too late. She's lost him. In this one, unique instance, she'd rather be uncertain.

 

 

 

“Even if you had laughed in his face and told him you'd never be in love with him, he still would’ve done it,” Skye says, even later. “He'd still save you.”

“I know.” And that's a problem, too.

 

 

 

She's been sleeping in Skye's bed at night, because if Skye doesn't make her sleep, she doesn't. She just sits there, dozing in the chair next to him. So when May seeks her out, she comes to Skye's room.

“If there is a way to fix how you're feeling, I don't know what it is.”

This is the first time Jemma's ever heard May say anything like that. People like to believe that May is untouchable, infallible, all-knowing. This is not so.

“But we're going to take care of you.”

Jemma hears _forever_ even though it isn't said.

May only leaves after she promises to sleep that night; and after she curls into Skye's side, she does.

 

 

 

Three weeks later, provoked by absolutely nothing, he wakes up saying her name.

Not everything is fixed, but she is willing to look for the answers.


End file.
